New Mind, Old Self
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: When Basil receives an invitation to a Christmas ball from none other than Irene Adler herself, he gets pulled into an escapade that will bring up an unwanted and former self. *Two-shot, dedication to Brinatello*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Well, a short oneshot that I managed to get out just in a few minutes. I'm going to leave my multichaptered stories aside to focus on the few oneshots I will write in whatever span of free time I have; this one just came out on its own. This little oneshot- no, forgive me, TWO-shot, is dedicated to the lovely Brinatello, who is an amazing person and a fellow GMD-lover like myself xD

Like you so kindly requested, there is some suspense in this one that will lead up to a full-length fic, to come by 2011. I hope you like it, Brina, and a merry Christmas to you all!^^

**Disclaimer: I do not own Basil of Baker Street (The Great Mouse Detective when Disney-wise); copyright goes to Eve Titus/Disney. (I suppose I do own my version of Irene Relda xD).**

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December 24th…

It's such a peculiar day, one I've never cared to celebrate. Mrs. Judson has always tried to convince me to do something to make the day memorable, but my answer has never changed: I always say 'What is there to celebrate?'. As such, I have been marked as a pessimist or quite the stoic, but I prefer to mark myself as somebody else. I'm somewhat of a utilitarian, which is why I don't see any purpose behind the celebration. It has always brought back memories I had thought long forgotten; the first time I gave it its importance was the last time I did. Since then, I've liked to consider the twenty-fourth a normal day in my life.

That was, until a certain year.

I was smoking my afternoon pipe when my friend Dawson stepped inside the parlour with an envelope in his hand. I didn't pay much attention to him, since I was busy skimming through the _Times, _until he waved the envelope in front of my face. When I noticed him, I saw the usual glint of curiousness was there, in his wide eyes.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" I asked as I set down the newspaper and took the envelope. It was quite small, about the size of a business card, with my name and address written in fine letters. I did recognise that hand-writing, but I was wary. It was dated the same day. I turned the envelope to look at the sender's name; when I did, I was baffled.

"That, I suppose," Dawson said when I glanced up at him again. Almost scowling –and I wasn't mad at him-, I quickly took the card out of its place and read it. _**'Christmas Eve Ball, the Royal Albert Hall at 8 pm. Do take this with you, just in case.' **_I was genuinely mad at her.

"Why the bloody hell does she have to force me out of my home on such a day?" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet and throwing the card in the air. I couldn't stand the sight of it, but I had to calm down. It was just an invitation that could be simply turned down… if the case were different, that was.

"Basil, what's wrong?" I heard Dawson ask. Though I wasn't in the mood to explain, he did deserve my reply and explanation for my outburst. As I turned to face him, I calmed my agitated breathing.

"I'd say you haven't heard of Miss Relda, have you?"

"I'm afraid not, Basil."

"Well…" I hesitated; it was simply odd to share both the information I held about her _and_ my… let's say opinion, but I couldn't keep my secrets to myself with such a curious friend by my side. "Irene Mouseline Relda, the best contralto I've heard and may ever hear in my life. Leaving that aside, I will say that she has my admiration but also my dislike."

I could see Dawson holding back a smirk, and I fell into the temptation of chuckling. He knew how much I could come to dislike women. But as I thought about her, I could no longer sense that pang of aversion that tended to strike my chest. Perhaps she had changed over the years, perhaps not; what I was certain of was of my capability to face her this time. Some time ago, I had been naïve when dealing with my feelings and others'; now, that naivety had been replaced with mistrust.

"She's an extraordinary woman, truth be told, but she has the most despicable habit of… toying with me, if that's the most appropriate term." As the words rolled off my tongue, I could feel it going dry. It was difficult to talk about my relationship with Relda, especially when I had never had the chance to. Still, I knew Dawson would not inquire any further if I put enough emphasis on obvious hints, hence why I was at ease.

"I'm most sorry to hear that, Basil," Dawson said, spreading his palms. I had to smile: he was as supportive as ever. I picked up the card from the rug, read it once more. "I wouldn't like to think you're not one to give more than two chances."

"I can be lenient, doctor," I told him, "but not when it's happened so many times." I turned my gaze to the fire, keeping my composure. If just for the sake of seeing her again… But I had to be sensible: her presence would anger me further; that much was clear. Then, something clicked inside my mind and I asked, "Would you agree to accompany me if I decided to go? There is still time."

For some reason, the pang of shock that visibly struck my friend gave me some peace of mind. Dawson hadn't seen my answer coming, not by a long shot. I was loyal to my decisions and after what I had just told him, he had perhaps deduced I wouldn't change my mind. On the contrary, I had. I had an old self to face.

After that fleeting moment of shock, Dawson said, "I wouldn't mind, of course! But the decision is up to you, Basil."

"Most certainly," I replied, unable to fight off a smirk. Without any other word, I headed towards the door to the kitchen; from there, I'd head up to my room to pick my best clothes. Oh, not just for the sake of such an important (and unnerving) person, but also for mine. At the Royal Albert Hall and on a day like that one was, it was more than obvious educated people and more high-ranking others would be there. How could I, Arthur William Basil, turn down an invitation such as that one? It could prove interesting.

For once, my pride would have to wait.

"Let's go, Dawson; there's not a moment to lose!"

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_A/N: Right, here it goes. A few things to point out, though:_

_The idea of getting Irene Adler inside came as a last moment addition. I suddenly remembered the relationship there was between Holmes and Adler and, with my own twist and having Basil's character in mind, I decided to make Basil play along to it, so to speak. As such, I have also written Adler as who she hits me to be and how she indeed is: a smart and cunning woman who had the, shall we say, bravery to attempt and outdo Holmes (of course, not many would dare, in my honest opinion). Oh, and about her name: I have made a small pun on Madeleine and wrote Mouseline (I KNOW she has no canon second name, but I wanted to do something like that)._

_Next: about Basil's name... Dammit, that was hard. I wanted to make a reference to ACD, and I did with the first name. The name "William" as a click, since I didn't want to get Ignatius (it would be a literal copy and besides, I don't see that name as Basil's xDD). _

_On the rest, I did my homework as best as possible. Any inconsistencies, let me know._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **FINALLY! Finally I have this chapter up; so very sorry, Brina, but life's a pain sometimes. Thanks for pointing out the mention of Irene Relda in Eve Titus' stories; I SO have to get them ASAP. Now, on to this chapter (which was the funniest to write). Enjoy!^^

**Disclaimer: Consult chapter 1.**

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For that occasion, I picked something simple but elegant. I knew of many high-ranking others that always wore their best, and that best was always too extravagant and flamboyant. My wish was to keep a low profile in such ambient but after my appearance on the newspapers, I had the feeling it would be practically impossible, so I decided to dress as I pleased. I chose my usual plain white shirt and then an outfit I'd kept stashed away for years: black trousers with dark grey stripes and a black waistcoat. I normally dress in lighter hues, but that occasion called for dark shades.

I took my time before our coach arrived. As I straightened my waistcoat, I looked at the invitation again. I could not help but be suspicious of Miss Relda's intentions. It was true: she had outwitted me twice; she was good at what she did (professional thief, to be exact, and something I consider to be of the lowest of low-lives) and yes, I distrusted her because of her beauty. Of all the times I had heard about her exploits, I had always come to the same conclusion: her beauty was her best weapon of manipulation… hence why I suspected it would affect me. I knew better than to take the bait, but even I could make mistakes from time to time.

I slipped on my frock coat, settled my top hat on my head and marched downstairs with my walking cane in hand. I found Dawson on the parlour repeating my actions, neatly dressed like me; when he saw me, he tipped his hat at me.

"You really want me to come?" he asked me.

"Why, of course!" I exclaimed, tapping his shoulder with my cane. "Save for exceptions I myself will indicate, my business concerns you, too. And please, an evening outside this hole would do you some good. I sometimes feel like I'm depriving you of social life."

"Actually, I would support that statement."

I couldn't help but laugh at Mrs. Judson's accusation: she was completely right, and the tone in her voice was more than amusing. Whilst Dawson looked away, I remained steady. "And how, pray tell, are you going to support it? What arguments do you have?"

Mrs. Judson smiled, nearing us. "None, but the poor doctor does need some time out of here," she said warmly. "By the way, you gentlemen look wonderful."

In that moment, we heard human footsteps entering 221B, the noise accompanied by the barks of a dog: there was Toby, our coach. And as an answer to your sure curiosity as to why I take Toby as transportation, it's quite simple: he's always available and he's best than any other coach I may hire. Moreover, he knows the adequate speed to run at to avoid ruffling my attire, not to mention Dawson and him are on better terms. There you go: simplicity at its best.

We said goodbye to Mrs. Judson and headed outside. Seconds later we stepped foot on the sidewalk, Toby came running out of Holmes' house and greeted us with a loud bark. I will mention that Toby was especially joyous that evening and for reasons that were unknown to me despite the hunch I had: he was going to stick around and get a whiff of what our celebrations were like. I remember he took us to the ceremony back at Buckingham Palace and he was allowed the entrance to the hall: Toby couldn't stop looking at all the decorations. Such a frisky fellow, Toby.

He took us to the Royal Albert Hall in a matter of thirty minutes; Toby was an excellent runner. Along Hyde Park we saw other people riding human coaches and heading towards the Hall; it was only when we got there that got the idea of how many people had been invited. I assumed an act of great importance was to take place (leaving the Yuletide ball aside), something that unsettled me. Assisting to important events was and is of no inconvenience to me… most of the time, that is.

Toby left us at the entrance of the Hall. We received some odd looks –about which Dawson remarked with unusual quickness- given our means of transportation, but I was more than proud of myself: who else could afford such an efficient, quick and economical transport? And not only that, but how many people had it? Ha! Not many, that was for sure, but returning to the matter at hand…

The part of the Hall we were meant to be in was right under the humans'. It was an exquisitely decorated ballroom, and it would've looked as beautiful as Buckingham Palace itself if there had been a bit more of effort and perhaps even stock. The Christmas decorations were everywhere, garlands and wreaths and all, and the whole place was teeming with life. There was a large scenario at the far end of the room where the musicians were getting ready to start their performance. I hadn't been there many times since its opening in 1871 (in fact, barely two; during one of them, I was on a case), but that one would be an opportunity to remember.

"I say, this is astounding!" my friend remarked beside me. I smiled as I removed my hat.

"There haven't been any Christmas celebrations in a while, I would say, right Dawson?" I inquired as we stepped further inside.

"Not whilst I was in the Army, no," Dawson replied with obvious nostalgia. I will never understand his feelings during his enlistment in the Army unless he tells me, but back then I could tell how intense loneliness must've been. Of course, your colleagues and friends are around you, but it's a lot different when you're around your family. I will have to pry some information out of him some other time.

We entered the crowd as discreetly as we could; I myself wasn't too keen on drawing unnecessary attention to us. Among these people I recognised Miss Claire Elward, the young lady whose emerald ring had gone missing; Mr. Patrick Bell, whose kidnapping was reported by his wife; and Mrs. Madeleine Mouster, the wife of an old and late acquaintance. None of them saw me, but I was glad to see they were all faring well.

As the crowd dispersed into groups and couples agreed to dance, I began looking for Miss Relda. She wasn't one to be late; in fact, I believed she had arrived long before us. There were many perfumes and fragrances in the air, but none like Miss Relda's trademark Parisian perfume. I was getting a bit impatient when I saw her right in front of me, posted next to a column and looking towards the couples. For a moment, I wondered what was going through her mind.

"Is that…?"

"Yes, old chap," I said as a reply to Dawson's question. "That's the lady. Now, you don't mind if I go ahead, do you?"

The shake of his head was enough an answer for me. I made my way through the people, hearing some of them calling my attention, and finally reached Miss Relda.

Since I am at my leisure, I will give a detailed description of such peculiar person. Like I mentioned before, Miss Relda was of undeniable beauty. Her eyes were of an intense black colour and when I met her gaze, I saw that omnipresent cheeky glint in it, all highlighted by the faint touch of rouge there was to her cheeks. She was wearing a fine red evening dress, a shawl around her arms and a picture hat of a lighter shade of red. It suited her perfectly: her fiery red against my black, which had no description. I felt uneasy.

She didn't move from her position; instead, she said, "Well, well, how strange to see you here."

So much for a greeting. But still, pulling off my best smile, I told her, "How could I turn down such a generous invitation?"

Following protocol much to my dislike and hers (since we knew when and how to be informal), I took her hand and laid a brief kiss on it. After straightening, her gaze caught mine. I couldn't believe it: she indeed wasn't about to let me out of her sights, hence my suspicion.

"If it wasn't because I knew you'd come, I'd be celebrating today like the bachelorette I am: alone, with my usual stroll around Mayfair," Irene said, looking down at the crowd (I will take the liberty to address her by her name some other time).

"Is that a complaint I'm hearing, miss?" I asked, my hands in my pockets.

"No," she replied with a wink, "it's just a small secret I'm letting you on."

"Ooh, so now I am privy to your personal affairs, is that it?"

She was quick as mercury to snap her head at me. I casually faced her, not intimidated by the furious gleam in her eyes. Irene knew how to play, so did I, and I was laying my cards on the table and playing them one by one. Still, I wouldn't be as aggressive as I'd been other times: it was a lady playing with me, not some other gentleman. The glint in her eyes disappeared and Irene sighed.

"Basil, please." I couldn't help a chuckle when I saw her rolling her eyes. "Life is complicated, you know that."

"If I were you, Miss Relda -and judging by your jewellery and the fine quality of your dress tonight- I'd rephrase that last statement." And I meant every word. "Life has also been complicated for me, like it is for everyone, and here I am, dressed like a middle-class gentleman. But…" I faltered; I knew I was being overly harsh on her. "Knowing your agenda, I would say some complications do have appeared, haven't they?"

"Not many, but some." Irene's answers were concise like they always were, but I sensed there was something more she wanted to tell me. Her next look was the proof I needed. "Something has come up, Basil. You surely must've figured out that this invitation wasn't sent because of my wanting to see you."

I smiled, letting her know about most of my thoughts. "In fact, I've been thinking about that the whole evening, my dear. Who knows what kind of predicament has befallen you?" I dipped my head at her. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do. After all, you outwitted me twice; how could you doubt your skills?"

I let silence sink deep between us; in the meantime, I looked at the already dancing couples. I remember the waltz to be Johann Mauss'; sadly, the name of the song doesn't come to mind. Irene was silent and, offering her my hand, I made her break the silence with a faint gasp. The ghost of a smile crossed her thin lips.

"Would you like to dance with me?" I harboured no hesitation as I asked her the question that would put my self in danger. Yes, I had already danced with her and in those young years, I enjoyed it. I would remember, my mind would be clouded for just one night, but it was _that one_ night, and I owed her that much. Don't inquire as to the reason why; I shall never say.

The smile she had held back finally appeared on her features. "How could I turn down such a generous invitation?"

"Touché," I admitted as she took my hand, and I guided her towards the centre of the room.

Having in mind my occasional dislike towards women and how close I was to her, I felt uneasy once more. I was to guide her again, not to mention rest my hand on her waist again, but it was different that one time. We danced to the waltz as if we had done that our entire lives: both she and I knew how to do it perfectly. It was true that many of the present people knew how to dance and surely even better than I, but my confidence came due to having remembered the old days. Those were the consequences of leaving my pride aside. But like my friend Dawson had once told me, I was 'human' and I had feelings. Because of that, I knew what was best for me.

"It reminds me of the time at Hyde Park all those years ago," Irene said, pulling me out of my thoughts. Our history together had and has no romantic traces to it: like I've said, I was young back then and I genuinely enjoyed her company. One thing led to the other, but nothing more.

"I was afraid you might say that," I replied, keeping my eyes off hers. "It was spring, if my memory serves me well."

"And how is it that you remember?" She was chuckling all the time. "Don't tell me it's because of the dress I was wearing."

"Of course not!" I said in my defence, but she had got me. I heard her laugh without restraint. It was a sound that, now that I think of it, I would love to hear once more. It's not because of who is laughing, but because of the veracity and strength behind the laughter. It was simply different that time.

When her laughter subsided, I asked, "So, what brings you here tonight, Miss Irene Relda?"

"On one hand, just the wish of seeing you again; on the other, it's been because of duty's call that I have business with you." And she meant it; both statements, in fact. Since I had taken her hand, she had relaxed. I dare assume she felt safe, but I'll never know for sure.

"And what kind of business might that be?" I withdrew for the briefest of moments, and I left her with her hands in the air before taking my stance again. "I must remind you, I'm not any kind of detective."

"A consulting detective, yes. But this is a case that will begin in fifteen minutes."

I stiffened. All of a sudden, as though on cue, the waltz's tempo decreased to a stop and we finally went still as the dance ended. I took my time to let the statement sink in but when it did, my guard was higher than ever before. Frowning and in need of more information, I put some more pressure on her. I needn't utter another word for her to start talking.

"Somebody in this room will be kidnapped tonight, Basil," Irene explained, "and I know you won't like this, but you are meant to act as if nothing happened."

"That's outrageous!" I exclaimed through gritted teeth as we left the crowd and withdrew to our earlier spot. "How could I turn a blind eye to something like this?"

Miss Relda shook her head, her lips forming a thin line. "I wouldn't either, but it has to happen. Either that, or things get worse than they'll be after tonight's over."

The first blow had been dealt. If I didn't want anybody else to be involved in such depravity, then I would have to be none the wiser. This blackguard had won their first battle against me, and I knew they were more than dangerous just because of Irene's tone.

I caught sight of Dawson through the corner of my eye; I was extremely worried about the fellow. "Who's meant to be the unfortunate soul?"

"I don't know myself," Irene replied, shaking her head once more. She tilted her picture hat upwards in a casual manner: either it was intentional or the perpetrator was already in the room. "I only know that the kidnapping will take place, nothing more, and that I was meant to tell you."

There, _exactly_ what I was waiting for. "Miss Relda, who's your employer this time?" I inquired. "I know you will not hesitate to sell yourself and your services to the highest bidder if it suits your needs."

I looked at her in the eyes: I wanted the answer. And then, she smiled, but all traces of amiability were gone.

"You know who."

It was then and only then that I noticed the pocket watch in her hand. It was golden, of the finest make. I recognised it, especially because of the scratches on its surface and its worn look. Thanks to a simple object like a pocket watch is, I knew who was Irene's employer and more, much more. My heart was beating like crazy as the realisation dawned upon me.

"Ratigan."

And so, it had begun.

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_A/N: Aha! And yes, it has begun. Well, I sure hope I delivered everything you asked for, Brina; if not, do tell me and I shall hear your complaints xDDD I suppose you can all guess Basil and Relda's history in this chapter: nothing romantic, thankfully, but the mere antics of the 'teenage years' and formality. The end of this story marks the beginning of another, a full length fic I will have posted by next year. I sure hope you enjoyed this!^^_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


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